


The Fidelity of Break ups (20 Days Later)

by Gravity_Sun



Series: JayDick Week June 2016 [7]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, F/M, Happy Ending, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 11:05:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7312510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gravity_Sun/pseuds/Gravity_Sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Day 7 - First Break up</p><p>Or: </p><p>Your brother *tsks* at you. Calls you an idiot.</p><p>He’s probably right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fidelity of Break ups (20 Days Later)

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: First Breakup: It is important to note that this is their FIRST breakup, which means that they will get back together. This is not the end of their relationship. You can imply they will get back together, or have them get back together in your fanwork, just make sure that it’s known this isn’t the end for them.
> 
> Title inspired by Marty McConnell's "Fidelity of Epitaphs (20 Days Later)".

You want to change something. Destroy something. But your lover took all remnants and trinkets of them when they left. So you settle for pouring kerosene on what bits of yours remain and lighting a match.

This, you’re used to. The hole in your chest emptiness. The nothing but the clothes on your back. Wondering how many drinks they’ll serve you in this bar before they throw you out. Probably up until the credit card you stole stops paying for them.

He took your favorite t-shirt with him, you realize. Was wearing it when he stormed out, and it wasn’t there when you’d sobered up the next morning and woke up to find him still gone.

It’s better this way, right? Because this way you don’t have to continue down the path of mutual domesticity. Of extra toothbrushes and drawers and that inevitable moment where you and me becomes we. When you start existing as one and then the day where you wake up and everything feels grey. Stagnant. Til one day you’re screaming at each other across the kitchen table and neither of you can remember  _ why _ . It’s better until you realize that  _ he’s gone _ . And with it he took the small bit of sunshine that still gleamed in your life.

You push it down and do what you do best. What he hates you for. What he  _ left  _ you for. You go out and you raise hell, burn down a drug ring, break the leg of a petty crook. It’s when you’ve got the barrel of your gun in the mouth of an attempted rapist that his voice sounds in the back of your head so suddenly, you turn, expecting him to be there. Expecting to see that disappointed face, again.

You don’t ever want to see that face again.

You knock him out, instead.

 

X

 

You’d think you’d be used to this by now. Waking up, throat sore from a screaming match that you’d almost hoped was a dream. Peeking at the morning paper in the afternoons dimming light and realizing that his safe house burned down. Likely electrical fire, the news says. You read this and realize he’s likely skipped town by now. It’s only been a few hours and you left him and then he left you. It’s amazing how fast things move.

You remember the first time he kissed you. Drunk, on a rooftop, in the rain. How you’d tried to force it out of your mind. Tried to pretend you didn’t feel for him what he felt for you but knew you were lying. That the kiss never left your mind and the first time you had his body under yours felt like heaven. And soon your love because like a fire, warmth spreading into blistering heat. Safety spreading into flames that burned and consumed until there was nothing left.

_ ‘There  _ **_is_ ** _ nothing left’ _ , you tell yourself. You slide off the t-shirt you’ll pretend you accidentally stole from him, move to toss it in the laundry, but freeze when you realize you can still smell  _ him  _ on the collar. _ ‘We’re done’ _ , you repeat to yourself. Over and over again. It’s for the best. What he is and what you are just...

Not enough.You were never enough for him. Never enough to give him everything he needed.  _ Fix _ him.  _ Save  _ him. And you knew it. You swallowed your morals and pride and carried on because the way the sun shone off his teeth made your heart flutter. How he would gently rub your back until you woke each morning. Stay awake to make sure you didn’t have nightmares each evening.

_ ‘This is for the best,’ _ You tell yourself, as you curl up with his t-shirt. The pain will pass.

 

X

 

It doesn’t.

It’s 3 days later when you wake from a dream so warm and beautiful to the cold emptiness of the shit hole apartment you’re renting and find him  _ still gone _ when you finally start crying. It’s 5 days when all the bars in the neighborhood refuse to stop serving you, and by 10 you’ve bought the local bodegas out of anything resembling decent whiskey. Your apartment stinks, and you fall more than you walk, and on day 12 your best friend shows up and beats the hell out of you.

On day 13, when you’re nursing a black eye and have memorized the schedule of every AA meeting in the Gotham area, your best friend decides to untie you. You kick him so hard in the groin that he actually sobs. He’ll survive.

Day 14, you meet a girl in a bar. Pretty thing. Rich college co-ed looking to go slumming by the looks of it. Tattered $2,000 leather jacket. $500 jeans with pre-made holes. She’s an easy mark, you tell yourself. That’s why you’re humoring her, why you’re going to be walking her home.

But, she’s pretty, you tell yourself, half a fifth of Jack later, and that’s why you’re letting her kiss you. Letting her slide to her knees in an alley that was probably moments before being used for this very same thing. This, feels familiar. This is a situation you’ve been in, many times, in both roles. You remember that the asphalt is particularly rough here, know that she’ll be uncomfortable in short order, but still let her undo your fly, take your cock in your mouth, to shallow and too over eager.

You remember the first time he’d sucked you off. How he’d trembled, focused. Clearly trying to make sure you enjoyed this. You’d laughed, held his hair, guided him slowly, winced when he used too much teeth and whined when he didn’t use enough. When you’d finished and he looked up at you flushed cheeks and shit eating grin, you couldn’t stop laughing for hours.

The co-ed is muttering something around your cock. Probably wondering why you’re half hard and seemingly disinterested. You look down at her, at your hand twisted in her blonde locks and feel shock. Shame.

You blame the alcohol, pull her to her feet, kiss her and finger her so good she screams and comes twice.

Never let it be said that he leaves his customers unsatisfied.

 

X

 

Day 15 Bruce tries to bring it up to you. Awkwardly, and dancing around the point. And you’re not sure why that pisses you off as much as you do. You scream at him, louder than you mean and before you know it over a decade's worth of pent up frustration comes pouring out. You blame him for your lover... former lover’s death. For his resurrection into something that felt abandoned. Dejected. Blame him for his never being able to connect to you. Throw your weapon so hard it lodges into the computer screen.

Bruce lets you, and then cleans up the mess.

 

X

 

Day 17, you’re playing with your little brother in the Manor gardens. He calls it ‘training’, but there’s no malice or actual attempts here. Just moving with each other for the sake of moving. When he asks about him, you freeze. Tell him it’s nothing. That you’re fine. That it’s for the best and when your next kick against the tree is so strong it cracks the trunk. Your brother tsks at you. Calls you an idiot.

He’s probably right.

 

X

 

Day 18, your little brother’s blood is on your knuckles and he’s on the ground, tonguing at what was probably a loose tooth.

“He’s not the same,” He saying “He’s miserable.”

You tell him it’s not your problem, and turn to leave him, when he tackles you. Kids heavier than you’d give him credit for. Faster. Stronger. Not bad for your replacement. But replacements never live up to the original, and sooner rather than later you’ve got him pinned under you.

“You still love him,” He says, cheek purpling as a bruise spreads “I know you--.”

The rest of the sentence is choked out as your fist slams into him again. And again. And again. You realize he’s stopped fighting a few strikes back, now just stares up at you, saying words he can barely get out and that you don’t understand.

“Still loves you,” you catch, then a groan of pain “Still wants to be with you.”

You call him a liar, you scream and punch him so hard his instincts kick in and he’s defending himself, fighting for real and once his bo staff gets into his hands, he’s scary.

But you’re a monster. You know this. He knows this. And everything goes black.

When you open your eyes, he’s a few feet away from you, blood running down his chin, blood on his gloves that you realize is yours.

“Don’t you see?” You scream at him “ _ This  _ is what I am. This is **all** that I am. He doesn’t...  _ couldn’t  _ want this.”

He stares at you, for a long moment.

“You’re an idiot.” He says, at length.

He’s probably right.

X

 

There’s a certain comfort about being around her, even though your time together has long passed. You’ll always love each other. You know that, she knows that, even as she listens to you explain why you left. Why you  _ had  _ to walk away. Why you can’t save him, fix him. Why it’s better this way.

Then she asks if you love him.

You’ve never been very good at lying to her.

“... you’re an idiot.” She says, at length, turning back to her screen

She’s right.

X

 

It’s day 20, when you find him on a rooftop, putting out the remnants of a cigarette. You think about sneaking out as quietly as you’d come, but can tell from the shift in his shoulders that he noticed you, probably before you’d even landed.

You tease him about the smoking. Tell him that it’ll shorten his lifespan. He reminds you that he died once, says that it wasn’t so bad, that coffins are actually comfortable when you’re not slowly suffocating.

You fall into comfortable silence. You take note of the guns on his hips. Rubber bullets. You can tell from the clips. You wonder if this is a good sign. That he’s better. And then you remember what happened to Tim and you second guess yourself.

Still, you apologize first. You knew you’d have to. He interrupts you to tell you that he’s  sorry he wasn’t good enough for you. That he wasn’t  _ enough  _ and you kiss him into silence. Until he’s pliant in your arms and you can’t stop pressing your lips to every inch of skin. You’re an idiot. You tell him as much. Tell him that you’re sorry you couldn’t fix him because he’s not broken. That you see his light and his good intentions and good deeds. 

Even though you know this will happen again one day. That there’s going to be another day where you’ll be screaming at each other across the room and neither of you will be able to remember why. That you’ll disappoint him and he’ll disappoint you. And that it doesn’t matter. That you want it all. You want him and everything that comes with him.

He calls you cheesy, tells you you’re being silly but can’t stop smiling. Ear to ear, sun playing with his cheekbones.

“So...” He begins “Now that we’ve agreed you’re the worst boyfriend ever,” He teases “How’re you gonna make it up to me?”

You kiss him once more. Just for the fun of it. Just because you can and never want to not be able to.

“It’s a surprise, Littlewing.”

He gets that look in his eye. The look that always results in one of you losing your pants in the next few minutes, before pausing, looking worried.

“... wait. You’re not gonna cook for me, are you?”

Your laughter echoes across the dawn sky. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah yeah yeah, I wrote in second person again. Fight me irl.
> 
> ... I'm awful, I know.


End file.
